


Thursday's Child

by Powerfulweak



Series: Wednesday Addams!Castiel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addams Family AU, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, High School AU, Jock Dean, M/M, Pseudo Goth Castiel, Wednesday Addams Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/pseuds/Powerfulweak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something very different about Castiel, with his dark clothes, dark hair and darker demeanor. Dean doesn't understand it, but he likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday's Child

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://tigerboydean.tumblr.com/post/111581488328/idk-maybe-ill-send-a-formal-headcannon-but) by TigerboyDean ( [Bellacatbee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bellacatbee/pseuds/bellacatbee) on AO3). Also [this one](http://tigerboydean.tumblr.com/post/111676182573/bella-can-i-bother-for-a-ficlet-of-one-of-the)

Dean doesn’t know what it is about Castiel.

He just seemed to appear at their school one day: pale, porcelain skin, dark hair going in every direction, dressed head-to-toe in black. He seemed to silently float down the hallways, eyes straight ahead of him, not focused on anything in particular.

Obviously, Castiel wasn’t going to fit in with the popular crowd or with the jocks like Dean. The unpopular kids didn’t want anything to do with him either. Even the Goths and Punks steered clear of him after some initial attempts to engage him. It didn’t take very long for rumors to start floating around that he was a vampire or a ghost who somehow gained corporeal form. If Castiel ever heard these rumors, he didn’t seem bothered by them. In fact Castiel didn’t seem to be particularly bothered by anything; everyday, he wore the same blank, disinterested expression.

Dean’s never heard the kid speak. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t talk, until one morning when he’s running late for class.

Dean searches through his locker for his book when he sees the dark form of Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He walks quietly down the hallway, books clutched to his chest in lieu of a backpack, passing Dean and human-ray-of-sunshine Becky Rosen.

“Good Morning, Castiel,” Becky chirps brightly. Dean rolls his eyes to himself. If Becky expects the Twilight-wannabe to answer her, she has another thing coming. As he expected, Castiel ignores her.

“I said ‘Good Morning,’” Becky repeats indignantly. Dean watches with interest as Castiel stops and slowly turns on his heel. He looks at Becky, his expression slightly pinched compared to its usual blankness.

“Why?” He asks.

“What?” Becky asks, confused.

“Why are you telling me it’s a good morning?” Castiel clarifies flatly. Becky looks perturbed.

“What are you talking about?” She asks, annoyance cracking through her chipper demeanor. “It’s just a greeting.”

“There is nothing good about this morning,” Castiel insists, shaking his head. “The world is falling apart before our eyes. People are starving to death in the Sudan, war and genocide are rampant, our planet is on the brink of biological destruction. Our own government has found a way to sell our freedom off to the highest bidder.” Becky frowns uncharacteristically.

“What… what are you…?” She mumbles.

“I find it difficult to understand how you are so quick to assert this is a ‘good morning,’” Castiel explains, complete with air quotes, “when, clearly, that is not true.” Becky glares at Castiel for a moment before pushing past him, mumbling “fucking freak” under her breath.

Dean chuckles to himself. Anyone who can make Miss Prim-and-Proper drop an F-bomb is alright in his book.

 

* * *

 

“Alright everyone, settle down,” Ms. Mills calls out, clapping her hands in an attempt to gain the class’ attention. “We only have a few minutes left. I’m going to hand out a dozen questions about last night’s reading. You’re going to be paired up for this and I want you to discuss the questions with your partner. I’m assigning the pairs.” The entire class groans in response.

Dean is doodling idly in the margin of his text book when he hears his name called out.

“Dean, you’re partnered with Castiel.” Ms. Mills says. Dean’s pops his head up and scans around the room. He finds Castiel at the center table, eyes focused on the worksheet in front of him. Dean collects his stuff and schleps it over to join him.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greets, dropping down into the seat next to him. Castiel glances at Dean before refocusing on the paper.

“Hello Dean,” he replies. Dean is flabbergasted that Castiel actually knows his name, but he quickly masks his surprise. He picks up the work sheet and looks at it momentarily before, setting it down and turning toward Castiel expectantly.

Of course, he is silent.

Dean waits a full minute before softly clearing his throat.

“Shouldn’t we… um, like be discussing this or something?” Dean asks.

“Why?” Castiel replies with a question, “I already assumed I would be supplying all of the answers.” If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think he was being insulted.

“I can do my share of the work, Cas,” Dean insists. Cas gives him a cool glare.

“I find that difficult to believe,” Cas says, expression unchanging, “You barely do the minimum requirements to pass this class. You’re lazy.” Dean’s jaw drops open in offense. Now he _knows_ he’s being insulted.

“That’s… You don’t…” Dean stammers, “That is not true!” Castiel blinks dully. Dean takes note of how the bright blue of Castiel’s eyes stands out against darkness of his hair and wardrobe.

“It is,” he states plainly. “You are getting a 71 in this class, barely a C-minus, and it’s not because you don’t know the material or that you are stupid. On the contrary, in fact. You are far smarter than you let on to those around you.” Dean’s face softens and he wonders how Castiel knows all this.

“Still your grade is only high enough to keep you on the football team,” Castiel continues. “It’s because you don’t study or do any of the course work. Ergo, you are lazy.” Castiel turns his attention back to the worksheet without further acknowledgement.

Dean opens his mouth and closes it several times, at a loss for words.

“Would you just tell me which questions I should do!” Dean blusters. Castiel sighs heavily and shakes his head.

“Fine,” he says in resignation, “I’ll do questions 1-5, you can do 5-12.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Dean pipes up, “Why do I have to do more questions?” Castiel gives him a withering glare and Dean shrinks back, muttering an annoyed “fine” under his breath. They spend the rest of the lesson filling out the worksheet  and not speaking to each other.

When Dean receives his sheet back a week later, “97” is written at the top in red marker along with a comment: “Fantastic work, Dean!” Dean glances behind him to where Cas is sitting 2 rows over. He holds up the sheet and grins, nodding his head in thanks. Castiel only raises an eyebrow in response. He laces his fingers together on top of his desk and turns his attention back to the empty space right in front of him.

 

* * *

 

“He’s such a weirdo,” Jo mutters as she and Dean leave the lunch line and walk into the cafeteria. He doesn’t know how the conversation fell on Castiel, but somehow it had. Dean scans the cavernous room, looking for his friends, but his eyes instead fall on Castiel, sitting alone at long table, calmly eating and… Is that a candelabra? Who the hell brings a candelabra to school?

Castiel, apparently, Dean guesses.

“What’s his deal?” Jo mutters to Dean as an aside. They walk through the crowd, finding their friends grouped around their usual table.

“He’s just different, Jo,” Dean shrugs dismissively, setting his tray down between Benny and Charlie. Jo snorts derisively.

“No, _Charlie_ is different-” She replies.

“Hey!” Charlie interrupts

“No offense,” Jo mumbles, “ _Ash_ is different. Garth is _very_ different. That there,” Jo looks pointedly toward Cas’ table, “is the Freaky-Freak of the Week.” Dean pulls an annoyed face.

“Jeez Jo, no need to be a bitch about it,” he gripes, poking at his macaroni and cheese with his spork.

“I’m not being a bitch!” Jo insists. “I mean, look at him! He just sits there everyday… alone!” Every head at the table turns to look at Castiel.

“A lot of people eat alone,” Charlie supplies, popping a Cheeto into her mouth.

“Yeah, but that’s _all_ he does,” Jo points out. “He doesn’t read or do homework or… text. He just _sits_ there, not doing… anything!” Dean’s eyes narrow as he watches Cas. Jo is not incorrect in her assessment, but it does give Dean an idea. He rises from the table and picks up his tray.

“Dean?” Charlie asks, watching him curiously.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” Dean mumbles as he walks in the direction of Castiel’s table.

Castiel is staring straight ahead, carefully taking bites of some dish Dean doesn’t recognize. His set up is much more intricate than Dean initially saw, with a small embroidered table cloth (black, of course) and real silverware in addition to the candelabra.

Dean clears his throat  but is given no response by Castel. He waits a second before settling  into the seat across from him.  

“Hey there, Cas,” Dean says brightly. Cas glances at him; his face doesn’t change but Dean swears he sees his eyes widen slightly.

“You’re sitting at my table,” He says.

“Clearly,” Dean replies, digging into his food.

“Why?” Dean thinks about this for a moment.

"Because you were here alone," Dean responds after a moment, shoveling a forkful of mac and cheese into his mouth.

"How observant of you," Castiel mumbles, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin ( _Seriously? cloth napkins?_ Dean thinks).

"And no one should have to eat alone," Dean continues with a shrugs. Castiel looks at him curiously, brow furrowing slightly.

"We are all alone, Dean," Castiel says, carefully placing his fork on the edge of his lunch container. "We are born alone, we die alone. The connections we make over our brief existence are temporary. Ourselves are our only constant companions." Dean's eyebrows fly to his hairline, caught off-guard by the answer. He watches as Castiel picks his fork back up and takes a small bite of his still-unidentifiable food.

"I just more comfortable than most people with that knowledge," Castiel admits quietly. Dean’s expression softens. He shrugs slightly.

“To each his own.” He plucks a french fry off of his tray and pops it into his mouth. Castiel doesn’t say anything further, but he doesn’t ask Dean to leave either. He counts that as a win.

“So, Cas,” Dean breaks the silence after about five minutes. “What do you like to do?” Castiel tilts his head to the side, clearly confused by the question.

“Do?” he asks.

“As a hobby, I mean,” Dean clarifies. “What do you do in your freetime?” Castiel’s eyes roll upward, considering the question.

“I collect weapons,” Castiel answers, “Namely blades and swords. I enjoy entomology-”

“That’s like bugs, right?” Dean asks.

“Insects, yes. Particularly bees,” Castiel says. He glances at Dean, a rare glimmer of excitement in his blue eyes. “Did you know that Japanese Honeybees neutralize Giant hornets, a predator over twice a there size, by swarming it, beating their wings, creating convection heat, and literally cooking it alive." Dean startles backward at the rise in Castiel's voice, despite his face remaining impassive. It's odd to hear even the barest amount of excitement in Castiel’s usual deadpan demeanor.

"Well," Dean answers, taking a sip from his can of Coke, "I guess being alone isn't always such a great thing, huh?" Dean could be mistaken, but he swears he sees the corners of Castiel mouth twitch up, just barely a smile.

 

* * *

 

"Step it up, Winchester! You're dragging ass out there!" Turner yells across the field.

"Yes, Coach," Dean pants out, picking up his pace. They're doing laps around the football field as a warm up and the early spring warm spell already has most of the team sweating through their clothes.

Dean surges forward, easily overtaking Gordon and Alistair. He's aiming to catch up with Benny when sees a lonely dark spot on the empty bleachers at the end of the field. As he gets closer, he sees that it's Castiel, shrouded under a black umbrella, watching the team.

Dean stops momentarily, waving in his direction. Castiel stiffly lifts a hand in response before slowly lowering it.

"Is that your boyfriend, Winchester?" Gordon sneers.

“The vampire kid? Really?” Alistair joins in, “You go from Lisa Braden to that? Talk about slumming it!” Gordon and Alistair cackle as they jog past him. Dean glares at them scornfully, before turning his attention back to where Cas is sitting. He sticks out like a sore thumb against the dull metal of the bleachers, and Dean can’t seem to take his eyes off the boy.

“Not yet,” Dean mumbles, grinning to himself. He waves once more and jogs forward, joining the rest of the team.

 

* * *

 

Dean is strolling out of the locker room, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, when he spots Castiel standing to the side. He is still covered by the massive black umbrella and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of round dark sunglasses.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greets as he walks up to him.

“Hello Dean,” Cas answers.

“Did you watch us practice?” Dean asks, more nervous than he had anticipated, “I didn’t think that you were into football.”

“The potential to see possible serious injury in real-time is quite a draw.” It’s not the answer Dean would’ve expected, and he laughs lightly in response. He hears Gordon behind him mutter “freak” under his breath as he passes them. Dean takes the opportunity to slyly flip him off and continues talking to Cas.

“So what are you up to now?” Dean asks hopefully. Maybe Cas will want to grab coffee or a slice of pie.

“I have to head home,” Cas answers. Dean’s face falls; Guess coffee and pie are out of the question.

“Oh,” Dean mumbles, “Well, uh, do you need a ride home?” Even behind the dark glasses, Dean can still tell that Castiel is furrowing his brow.

“I walk,” He replies. Dean thinks he might be getting the brush-off, but he’s going to give it one last shot.

“Well, is there anything that says you can’t get a ride home?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t respond, just stands there in stiff silence.

“I suppose not,” he finally answers. Dean grins brightly.

“Awesome,” He says, “So you want me to give you a ride?” Castiel nods and Dean nods his head toward the student parking lot, leading the way.

They don’t talk as they walk and Dean is unsure about asking Cas if he can join him underneath the umbrella. The Impala is parked at the very back of the lot (mostly due to Dean’s paranoia over her getting scratched or damaged)

“This is your car?” Castiel asks when they are about 20 ft. from the Impala.

“Yup, that’s my baby,” Dean replies proudly. He looks to Cas, who seems to be evaluating the car.

“I like the color,” He says and Dean can’t help but laugh at the obviousness of it.

“Of course you do, Cas,” Dean moves around to the drivers side. He unlocks the door, slips inside and reaches over to unlock the passenger side. Castiel carefully closes the umbrella before opening the door and moving onto the seat.

“This car is old,” Cas observes; It’s a statement, not a question. Dean just nods and turns the engine. They drive with only the low mumble of the radio accompanying them. Castiel doesn’t say anything aside from the occasional driving direction. When they pull up along Castiel’s street, Dean can instantly tell which house is Castiel’s.

Along a rows of modest two-story homes and bungalows, sits a massive, deep charcoal gray Victorian.. well, mansion; there is really no other word for it. Dean can’t help gaping as they approach the massive building.

“This is where you live?” Dean asks in disbelief.

“It is,” Castiel answers. Dean expects him to get out of the car without further conversation. Instead, he turns to face Dean. “Would you like to come inside?” Dean is stunned but he manages to nod. He turns off the car and he and he follows Castiel up the walkway.

The house is… strange. For one thing, there is no grass, only dark soil covering the front lawn with perhaps a smattering of dead or dying flowers. Dean also catches sight of something which he can only guess are tombstones. They must be decorative, Dean thinks. No one has dead bodies in their front yard... right?

The front door opens with a thunderous ‘creek’. The house’s interior is exactly as Dean expected: Dark walls, dark rugs, thick black curtains blocking the light from the windows. Dean wants to make a sarcastic remark about his surroundings when the words catch in his throat. A massive giant of a man lumbers toward Dean and Castiel, growling lowly in his throat. He’s dressed in a drab suit with dark hair matted to his large forehead. His eyes lock on Dean’s, a flicker of anger flooding them. All at once, Dean’s mouth goes dry and he feels the strong desire to bolt.

“Virgil, it’s alright,” Castiel says gently, addressing the man, “This is Dean. He is a guest.” Virgil looks down at Castiel and groans again before turning and shambling back down the hallway.

“I apologize for Virgil,” Castiel says, watching the man move down the hall. “He’s not fond of guests.”

“You guys have a butler?” Dean sputters in disbelief. Castiel looks up and taps his chin in thought.

“Virgil really isn’t a bulter, per say,” he mutters, “more like a… Pet?”

Castiel move down a different hallway and Dean follows after him. They move into what must be a kitchen, although it’s unlike any kitchen Dean has ever seen. There doesn’t seem to be one modern appliance in the room. A heavy iron stove is against the wall and a massive counter, decorated in dozens of small draws sits in the center of the room. Of course, everything is as drab and desaturated as everything else. Dean spots two people are standing at the counter: An ethereal-looking woman with long red hair dressed in a flowing black gown and a dapper shaggy-headed, dirty blonde gentleman firmly cupping the woman’s ass and kissing down her neck.

“Mother, Father,” Castiel pipes up. The two people stop what they are doing and turn toward them with a smile.

“Castiel, my Boy!” The man (Castiel’s dad, Dean guesses) greets in a thick British accent. He slaps Castiel on the shoulder jovially, sending the slender boy lurching forward a step. “You’re home later than expected. Were you looking for dead bodies again?”

“Not today, Father,” Castiel answers, not batting an eye at the question. “This is Dean.” He opens his hand to indicate Dean. Castiel ‘s father beams and offers a hand in Dean’s direction.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dean,” He says, grip firm as he shakes Dean’s hand. “Balthazar Addams. This is my wife, Anna,” Castiel’s mother gives Dean a demure smile and nods her head.

“Nice to meet you,” Dean says. He’s saved from any awkward conversation as Castiel tugs him by the sleeve, pulling him out of the room.

“We’ll be upstairs,” He calls after them as they begin to climb a grand staircase to the second floor.

“Those are your parents?” Dean asks, following Castiel down the hallway. He stops abruptly and turns to Dean.

“Of course,” he says, “They told you they were.” Dean finds this reaction strange for some reason.

“It’s just that… uh, I , um… You guys don’t really look alike,” He points out. Castiel blinks several time in a row.

“My mother dyes her hair,” He says finally after a minute. Dean has no response for that, so he just shrugs and nods. Castiel continues to lead him down the hallway until they stop in front of a door.

“This is my room,” Castiel announces, slowly opening the door. Like the rest of the house, Castiel’s room is dreary and dimly lit by kerosene lamps, if the smell is any indication. On one wall hangs a diverse collection of antique knives and weapons.

“Oh cool,” Dean says, reaching out to a nearby sword.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Castiel warns, “I keep every blade ideally sharpened.” Dean draws his hand back right away and continues to look around.

There is an old wooden desk stacked with folders and books, as well as a large glass frame filled with bugs.

“So this is your… entonology thing?” Dean asks, hoping that he got the word right.

“Entomology, yes,” Castiel correct. He moves to Dean’s side, pointing a finger at the glass. “This is my collection of various species of honeybee. I finished it a few months ago.” Dean nods and examines the bees. Each one is pinned to the board behind it along with a paper tag with some foreign words.

“It’s Latin,” Castiel explains, “Classification names. Genus and Species.” Dean nods; he vaguely remembers something about that from Biology last year. He stands up and turns to Castiel.

“It’s really cool,” he says with a smile. He glances around for a chair, but doesn’t see one. He settles onto the bed, Castiel’s bed, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

“So what’s with the umbrella, man?” Dean asks. Castiel’s face scrunches in confusion (as much as his face can scrunch anyway), like he’s never been asked that before.

“Many people use umbrellas,” Castiel explains, “For the sun or the rain-”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t raining today,” Dean argues. “Wasn’t particularly sunny either.” Castiel looks at him for a moment before moving forward and sitting on the bed next to Dean.

“I find the darkness beneath it comforting,” he admits. “Like when you’re small and you bury yourself beneath the duvet on the bed, thinking no one will see you.”

“You don’t think anyone sees you?” Dean asks. If Castiel is trying to hide, he’s doing a piss-poor job.

“I believe they do not want to see me,” Castiel explains, “I remind them of… unpleasant things. Or at least what they believe to be unpleasant.” He looks down at his hands and Dean can see the hint of a frown teasing at his mouth.

“I see you,” Dean mumbles. Castiel looks at him and smiles, honest-to-God smiles.

“I know,” he replies. They sit there, not saying anything. For once, Dean finds the silence comfortable. He looks over to Castiel thoughtfully.

“You're kind of weird, Cas.” Castiel tilts his head to the side and looks at Dean.

“Yes, I’ve been told,” He replies. Dean catches his gaze, hypnotized by the bright blue staring back at him.

“I like it,” Dean mumbles. He moves forward, closing the gap and kissing Castiel. Dean is surprised by how warm Castiel’s lips are and how his mouth opens willingly, deepening the kiss. He feels a hand on his face and he leans into Castiel’s touch. Dean’s fingers reach out, enclosing around Castiel’s free hand. He takes an opportunity and weaves their fingers together.

The kiss ends much too soon for Dean. Castiel draws back, licking at his lips demurely.

“Thank you Dean,” he says. “I have work to do now. You may go.” Dean frowns, feeling slightly rejected. He has to remind himself that, despite a kiss, Castiel is still Castiel.

“Sure thing, Cas,” he says. He rises from the bed and walks to the door.

 

* * *

 

“You actually went over to that Freak’s house?!” Jo squawks. Dean glares at her, shaking his head at his friend’s lack of filter.

“Jeez, Jo. Talk a little louder. I don’t think they heard you in the east wing of the school,” Dean snarks. “I told you, he’s not a freak. Cas is a really nice guy. He’s… interesting.” Jo rolls her eyes, but Charlie just snorts as she swallows his bite of his pop tart.

“What’s his house like?” She asks with genuine interest. Dean shrugs.

“Huge, dark” Dean gushes, “exactly like you’d imagine.” Charlie considers this as she takes another bite.

“I always imagine he lives in some place like the Haunted Mansion at Disney. Is it like that?” Dean pokes a tongue into his cheek and nods reluctantly.

“Were his parents there?” Jo asks.

“Yeah, they were,” Dean answers. Both girls look at him, eyes wide.

“What were they like?” Jo presses. A memory suddenly comes to mind of a scene that Dean caught out of the corner of his eye as he was leaving: Castiel’s dad pressing his mom against the kitchen counter, kissing her deeply with his hand up her skirt.

“Really _into_ each other,” he replies slowly. They approach Dean’s locker. He spins the dial, entering the combination and opens the door.

“What the hell is that?” Jo exclaims, pointing into Dean’s locker. His eyes fall on what she’s aiming at and he smiles.

“Is… is that a bug?” Charlie asks. Dean picks the item off the top shelf of his locker and admires it.

“It’s a bee,” he replies. It’s just a small wooden frame, no bigger than a square two  inches, with a fuzzy honeybee pinned inside. A strip of paper identifies it as “Apis nearctica”. Dean turns the frame around in his hand and grins.

“Oh My God!” Jo gasps, “Is that from the Fre… uh, Castiel?” Dean nods and bites at his lip, unable to control the wide grin spreading across his face.

“Dean Winchester, I do bah-lieve you have a suitor,” Charlie says, putting on a mock Southern Antebellum twang. Dean laughs to himself and slips the bee into his pocket. He grabs a book out of his locker and shuts the door.

“I’ll see you guys in history,” he says, waving goodbye to Charlie and Jo.

He rushes down the hall, hoping to catch Castiel before English. Dean finds him at his locker, carefully slipping his black umbrella inside.

“‘Hey Cas,” He says brightly, leaning against the adjacent locker.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says, briefly glancing at Dean out of his peripheral vision. Dean pulls the frame from his pocket and holds it up.

“I, uh… I got your gift,” he says. Cas nods, eyes still focused forward.

“I see.”

“Was this your roundabout way of saying ‘Beeee mine?’” Dean asks playfully. Castiel turns his head and looks at Dean.

“The emphasis on the vowel is unnecessary, but, yes,” Castiel answers. He casts his eyes downward, “Normally people don’t react this well when I give them dead things.” Dean laughs softly and leans in, placing a soft kiss on Castiel’s cheek. His expression doesn’t change, but Dean can’t imagine a better sight than a soft blush rising to those pale cheeks.  

The warning bell rings and Dean tips his head to the side.

“We better get going,” he offers. Castiel nods and they walk down the hallway, side by side. Dean glances over at his strange friend (well, boyfriend _now_ , he guesses) and smiles shyly.

“So, um… Can I hold your hand?” Dean inquires. Castiel thinks about this for a moment.

“I suppose,” he answers, “But it will have to be tomorrow. I left Thing at home today.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: Wednesday Addams got her name from the line in the nursery rhyme "Monday's Child": _Wednesday's child is full of woe_. The title here is a reference to that.
> 
> Sometimes I think I might be obsessed with making bee references for Castiel... _sometimes_


End file.
